Baby Dragon Teito
by silence of winter
Summary: In which Teito is a fyuulong hatchling captured by the Barsburg military. Adopted by Chief of Staff Ayanami as a pet, Teito knows something isn't quite right with the man. Especially when he experiences first hand just how cruel Ayanami can be. Escaping his vicious master, he ends up in the great Barsburg church with a trio of bishops he suspects are more than they seem.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Author's Notes:** Decided to post this here so **justanothersinger** doesn't always have to log in to see what's happening with this story. Hopefully this makes it easier for you?

Also, to everyone else who stumbles across this fic, thank you ahead of time to everyone who wants to bother themselves with reading this story. I have no idea how or why you made the choice to read this fic in particular, but I'm glad that you decided to spend some time here. Hopefully you consider it well spent by the end of the chapter.

 **Fair warning:** This fic is unbeta'd and will most likely suck. You have been warned!

 **Prologue**

Even though he hadn't been here—wherever here was—for very long, the hatchling knew that today was going to be different from the previous days. Usually things were a calm, steady routine, but today things seemed hectic, wild. The scientists—he knew they were called that, had heard other people refer to them as such repeatedly over the past few days,—fluttered nervously from place to place, snappy, worried, concerned. They bumped into each other and bickered, some shoved back, but the on-lookers intervened before fights could break out, and they all returned to their work, as tense as before.

If they gathered into groups in a useless attempt to regain some semblance of normalcy in their disrupted routine, the hatchling heard three words repeated over and over again: "Chief of Staff" they whispered darkly among themselves. The way they said it, with glaring eyes and low, angry voices, with wide eyes and trembling bodies and fearful whispers, made shivers run down the new-hatched dragon's mind.

"Shh," their coworkers would always whisper back, warningly, whenever the conversations turned towards less than respectful talk. "He has spies everywhere! If he hears us talking like this…"

They trailed off, unwilling to say anything more, but the hatchling had heard similar conversations before, even if he didn't understand what they meant. Budget cuts to their projects, salaries slashed, individuals framed for treason or fired with their reputations irreparably tarnished with the word "treason." Maybe, one scientist had suggested, bitterly, even execution was a possibility when speaking of a monster like the Chief of Staff. That had been the last day the hatching had seen that particular man, and his coworkers had seemed much more subdued than before following his disappearance.

And the hatchling wondered, but was too afraid to think of the possible consequences of those carelessly uttered, angry words.

 _Execution…_ a voice deep inside fearfully whispered, a reminder, and the hatchling clamped his ears against his head in a vain attempt to drown it out.

Shivers tingled down the little dragon's spine, and he looked up in time to see one of the scientists in charge of caring for him approaching with fresh food and water. The hatchling appreciated the fresh water, but the food didn't taste right, never tasted right. It was too bland, too mushy, and it just didn't feel right in the young hatchling's mouth. Maybe that was why the newborn dragon found itself losing weight after a few days of barely eating anything; even his fluffy winter coat couldn't hide the faint outline of his ribs showing. He preferred the rich taste of regurgitated, fresh-killed meat, not whatever it was that the people were feeding him.

His ears flattened against his head as the man released the lock on the cage and placed new bowls of food and water inside, and the hatchling scrambled away from the atrocious foodstuff, bristling as if it were a living thing out to attack him. The old bowls were taken out, the water bowl nearly empty with day-old water and the food bowl still mostly full, and his cage was closed again.

Not feeling particularly hungry or thirsty, the hatchling sat back and watched the dreary scene before him from within the safety of his cage, his long, silky ears pressed flat against his head. As the minutes became hours, the hatchling could feel it. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, a trembling in his chest.

He had a feeling things were about to change for the worse, very soon.

 _Our kind has a deep sense of danger,_ his mother had whispered in his ear one cold, winter night, weeks before he'd been captured. _If you have a bad feeling, listen to it._ Then she'd tucked him under her chin and curled her large, warm wings around the both of them, the soft, thick feathers acting as a buffer to keep away the cold. If only he were with her now, the hatchling yearned, to catch the scent of lavender and dusty wood and _home_ , what he wouldn't give for the feeling of safety and comfort of his mother to be returned. But she was no longer with him anymore… No more, the hatchling reflected, head dropping down towards the ground.

"Welcome, Chief of Staff," a random voice said, loud and clear, and after hours of quiet, near-silent conversations whispered amongst themselves, the hatching's long, silky ears twitched in curiosity at hearing someone speaking in something other than a mutter or whisper. Lifting his head, he looked in the direction of the voice. The scientists were lined up in two rows, one on either side of the door and saluting respectfully as if a group of people were to be escorted inside, but there was only one person standing at the end of the twin lines of people.

Only one... Were they all saluting this single person?

There was no response from the person, and he was too far away for the hatchling to see clearly. But when the person set a foot across the threshold, the hatchling could feel a cold sensation slowly start to fill the room around him. It was as if the human's very presence was enough to chill the air around them. And with each step bringing the human closer to the hatchling, the colder things seemed to get. The sound of the person's footsteps were loud to the hatchling's ears, and he pressed his ears flat in an attempt to drown them out, watching the human approach his cage with a scientist breaking rank to trail after him with a clipboard. The hatchling could only assume that this person wandering closer and closer to his cage was the Chief of Staff. The one the scientists had been so fearful about.

When the Chief of Staff was close enough for the baby dragon to see clearly, the human was obviously a male, and the hatchling's first thought about the man was that he was like winter: cold and distant. His hair was the color of snow and his dark purple eyes as bleak as a snow-covered clearing. The man didn't look welcoming or friendly or very happy. The baby dragon stumbled away from the window-door of his cage to try and get further away from the man's presence when he finally came to a stop before his cage.

"This is the fyuulong hatchling that we reported was captured in the wild," the scientist standing behind the Chief of Staff piped, but the white-haired man didn't appear interested in the man's words, staring apathetically down at the hatchling before him.

"Is that so?" the man questioned, and his cold voice sent shivers from the tips of the little dragon's long ears to the end of his tufted tail. It was like hail slamming down from the sky and the frigid chill of winter winds.

"Yes sir, Ayanami-sama," the man affirmed, and the hatchling felt that sinking feeling in his chest again as, staring with wide eyes up into the Chief of Staff's emotionless purple eyes, he saw something began to flicker in that frigid gaze.

Ayanami-sama… the scientist had called the Chief of Staff Ayanami-sama… Was that his name?

"Open the cage," the Chief of Staff ordered, eyes still locked on the scrap of bones and fur otherwise known as the hatchling. "I want to examine him myself."

The baby Fyuulong's head snapped up to stare at the man with wide eyes, his ears flattening against his head as he stumbled back a step, wings crushing themselves close to his sides, and he noticed one of the Chief of Staff's fingers twitch at his sides. There was something in that near-emotionless purple stare, almost as if those hands, rather than hurting, wanted to do the opposite. But the hatchling shook his head, his entire body following suit until the force of his shaking caused him to tumble onto his side with a small squeak of surprise. He didn't believe, not for a second, that the Chief of Staff-Ayanami?-could be kind, let alone to himself. He quickly scrambled to his paws again, turning to look at the scientist beside the Chief of Staff just in time to hear the white-coated man speak.

"Y-yes sir," the scientist agreed, with some hesitance. He set his clipboard and pen aside atop some machine and began walking forward. "Please, allow me a few minutes to get him out for you."

Relief almost made the young hatchling collapse to the ground. That unknown man wouldn't be touching him, holding him, hurting him. It would be one of the scientists instead, and not just any scientist. A scientist he trusted-

"I ordered you to open the cage," the Chief of Staff said, and his voice was Northern ice, ice that could numb and cause frostbite with a single touch, and the hatchling felt his tiny heart start to race, his chest fluttering wildly with shallow yet rapid breaths at the frightening tone.

"Sir," the scientist said, and there was a hint of protest in his voice, and the hatchling thought that he might have been trying to protect him from the higher-ranked man. The scientist glanced towards the young dragon under his care, and the hatchling met his gaze with something eerily similar to desperation in his green-eyed gaze.

Both flinched, however, when the Chief of Staff spoke next. "Open the cage and step away," he ordered, and there was something dark lurking beneath that dangerous tone, as he locked eyes, moving his gaze away from the first time to look at the scientist across from him, "before you lose more than your occupation."

 _Execution…_ the hatchling remembered, and a scream froze itself in his throat, locking his limbs with terror. He didn't know what the word meant, not yet, but he knew it was something dangerous, harmful.

Silence stretched out the seconds between the three of them. The scientist's coworkers were watching the exchange with wide eyes, silent. The hatchling wondered what they were feeling, or if they were remembering coworkers before them, and the mysterious circumstances that resulted in their misfortunes. The baby dragon scampered forwards, pressing his paws against the reinforced glass of his cage door and staring wide-eyed up at the scientist who was watching him with sympathetic eyes before turning away, eyes on the floor. When the man spoke next, he sounded utterly defeated.

"Yes sir," he agreed, and trudged forward to do as he had been ordered, nimble fingers working on the lock with slow, careful precision. But not slowly enough for the hatchling's liking. As soon as the lock clicked open, the scientist retreated with his head bowed, standing in the shadows with his back to the corner. And as soon as the scientist had stepped away, the hatchling scrambled away from the transparent door as quickly as his paws would carry him, wanting to keep far away from the ruthless Chief of Staff as he could get.

Except Ayanami didn't seem to share his desire to keep distance between them. Stepping closer to the hatchling's cage. He peered down at the tiny scrap of fur and feathery wings and bones. The hatchling shrank back and away from his scrutinizing stare.

"Scrawny," he observed, critically, and the hatchling's ears twitched as the man glanced at his food and water bowls.

"N-" the hatchling's throat convulsed, tongue tripping on the foreign sound trying to make it out of his throat.

At the sound, the Chief of Staff glanced back at him, something flickering in his cold stare. Curiosity? Either way, the hatchling didn't have long to think about it before he noticed a white-gloved hand reaching for him-Ayanami's hand-the ruthless Chief of Staff's...

The closer Ayanami's hand came, the more uneasy the hatchling felt. He fluttered his tiny wings, and his ears flattened against his head, backing away from the approaching menace until he felt his back carriage bump against the back of the cage, trapping himself. Stuck, the hatchling could only watch as Ayanami's hand came closer and closer. Those slender, gloved fingers were like long, thin spider legs, and the closer the man's hand came, the cleared the hatchling could catch the cold scent of winter that clung to the white satin of the gloves covering man's hands.

The hatchling chanced a desperate, terrified glance towards the cage opening, tiny wings fluttering worriedly. Maybe he'd be able to escape, maybe, if he risked it. But then what? There were scientists everywhere, and even if he did run, he probably wouldn't make it past the door outside this room. Reluctantly, he moved his gaze up to stare at Ayanami, and immediately wished he hadn't as he locked eyes with the Chief of Staff.

There was something about his eyes that made the hatchling uneasy-like a snake, no, a _viper_ , ready to lash out and grab its prey in its venomous teeth, letting the fatal poison sink in before waiting for its victim to die. The North didn't have snakes, the hatchling Fyuulong remembered. It was too cold, their blood required warmth and sun, his mother once said, her warm, furry muzzle nuzzling against his long, silky ears. They couldn't survive in the unrelenting cold of the North.

When the white-gloved hands were almost close enough to brush against the tips of the hatchling's fur, something snapped in the tortured young creature's mind. His body shifted, crouching low, and he lunged for the approaching fingers, mouth gaping open and tiny milk teeth bared, ready to bite. A few seconds later, the hatchling heard the click of his tiny teeth snapping together-empty. Well, he _would_ have bitten the Chief of Staff, if the man hadn't twitched his hand out of the way to avoid his teeth. Unable to brace himself, the hatchling crashed to the floor of his cage, struggling to pick himself up before the man could touch him.

"I see you have some fighting spirit," he heard the man's voice commenting somewhere above him, and then a pair of firm fingers pinched closed around the hatchling's vulnerable scruff, causing the baby dragon to go instinctively limp, before lifting him out of the cage towards the Chief of Staff's cold, scrutinizing gaze.

"Even so," the white-haired man continued, in a much more ruthless voice, looking down his nose at the terrified hatchling dangling from between his fingers. "It's bad manners for a pet like you to try and bite his master."

 _Pet?_ The hatchling wondered, long ears flattening against his head in a mixture of fearful confusion. _Master?_

He didn't know what the words meant, only that they left his insides cold and his paws numb whenever he thought of them, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the man that held him firmly with his fingers by the scruff. The hatchling wriggled, attempting to dislodge the grip, but achieved nothing. The fingers were like iron against the loose skin of his neck. Those light purple eyes continued to examine him: the visible ribs, the scrawny body that seemed too small for his age, the green of his eyes and the ebony darkness of his fur. Heart pounding, the hatchling thought that the chief of staff had eyes that were just so _cold_ as the man gazed down at him. His stare seemed to cut past the physical exterior and go beneath the hatchling's flesh, as if he could see the little creature's heart beating inside his chest. Shuddering at the thought, the baby dragon curled tighter into himself, hoping to somehow hide from the inescapable stare, but it was no use.

 _He looks deep,_ the voice warned, and the tiny dragon felt his fur puff out in alarm.

Ayanami noticed.

"Are you worried?" his deep, quiet voice seemed to filter into the hatchling's ears from all angles, and the dragon flattened his ears against his head in an attempt to drown it out, staring up at the Chief of Staff with wide, terrified green eyes.

The hatchling saw something flicker in the man's eyes as he noticed the terror in the hatchling's expressive eyes. With a small sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them and depositing the hatching back into his cage, shutting the door before he had a chance to escape.

"He'll do," Ayanami informed the scientists, turning away from the hatchling and observing the people in the white lab coats. The hatchling, watching them over the man's shoulder, noticed that none of them looked particularly pleased their superior's decision. One opened his mouth as if to say something until another scientist reached up a hand and pinched him on the arm, reminding him to stay silent. Shuddering at their meek response to Ayanami's decision, the hatchling wondered just how dangerous the man was.

Unable to keep from watching the 'threat' that was the Chief of Staff, the hatchling looked on as he had approached one of the scientists that the hatchling knew as his main caretaker. Ayanami was asking questions, the hatchling knew that much from what he could hear, if he strained hard enough to listen through the breathing holes in the transparent door. Things that the hatchling didn't really see had any importance to the cold man. At least, not until he realized that Ayanami would be taking him away from the scientists, who were relinquishing the hatchling into the Chief of Staff's care.

"You'll be coming with me," Ayanami says, once more opening the cage and grabbing the cowering hatchling by the scruff to gently put him in the new carrier that he would be used to transport him to his new home. Staring up at his 'master' from behind the metallic bars of the carrier's door, he noticed something in the Chief of Staff's gaze soften for just a heartbeat. It made the man look-warmer, the hatchling decided was the right word,-more humane. It was such an interesting change that the hatchling stretched his nose up to press them against the bars, wanting to be closer to this warm thing that came from the formerly cold human.

Seconds later, Ayanami's gaze was back to its expressionless mask as he gazed down at the hatchling in the carrier.

"Your name will be Tiashe from now on." he decided, quietly.

 _But,_ the baby dragon thought, staring up at the man with wide green eyes, his muzzle pressed faintly against the metallic bars, _I already_ have _a name. My name is-_

'Tiashe' didn't get to finish the thought. Ayanami was already turning and walking away without a glance back at the hatchling as he ordered the scientists to do things the newly-named Tiashe couldn't make sense of.

If only he were old enough to communicate with these strange creatures, the hatchling mourned. If only he were old enough to have access his kind's telepathic abilities to tell the Chief of Staff that one, important fact.

But would the man even care? He wondered, and despite himself, the newly named Tiashe couldn't help but feel the tremors of fear wracking his body. The man had just switched from cold to warm and back to cold within seconds of each other, less than a few minutes, and he ordered the scientists like dogs. Would he really care if 'Tiashe' wasn't really his name? Or would he dismiss the fact?

There was something scrambling around in his guts, that was making his heart pound in his chest, and 'Tiashe' realized that it was fear. For the second time in his short life, he was leaving a place he'd come to call home, no matter how uncomfortable or lonely it was. And he was going to be living with a human he barely knew, but was terrified of all the same.

Turning, Tiashe crawled to back corner of the carrier and lay down within it, curling into a shivering ball and wishing for sleep that he knew wouldn't come.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Author's notes:** I decided that I'm going to try for one update a month. However, nothing is set in stone and I cannot promise an update every month.

Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter and decided to give this story a shot, and thanks to those put this story on their favorites list or decided to follow its progress, and a special thanks to those kind enough to leave reviews on it. You guys rock.

 **Fair Warning:** See prologue.

 **Chapter I**

Tiashe growled, crouching before a man who stood very still in the center of the room, a short blade held in each hand at his side. The entire, circular room was gray and metal and barely-lit with shadows, a perfect fighting arena. The human looked the black-furred fledgling up and down, not bothering to hide his contemptuous expression. Tiashe had similar opinions of the human, with his thin, wiry body, watery eyes and quivering nose, he looked like an overgrown child with a constant cold.

"I'm not gonna let some overgrown rabbit take me down," he scoffed, derisively, and Tiashe stiffened, bristling. It was only when the man smiled that Tiashe realized what he'd done as the man lunged forward towards his still body, blades flashing through the air.

The young dragon snarled, leaping aside to dodge the swinging blades, feeling the whoosh of air as the blades swept by his left wing, too close for comfort. Tiashe waited for the man's momentum to carry him forward, bringing him closer, and with a swipe of his claws, slashed a set of shallow cuts into the side of the man's arm, tearing his clothes and causing drops of blood to splatter to the floor. The man cursed and threw himself to the side to avoid the fledgling's snapping jaws before they could shut on his shoulder, rolling lightly back onto his feet. In a way, he reminded Tiashe of a rat. Quick and clever. Then again, part of him thought, bitterly, this man was a criminal, someone who had lived his life committing crimes. You had to be sneaky and witty to survive when your occupation required you to break the law for a living.

Tiashe landed back on the ground at the same time as the criminal regained his footing, and they were circling each other again, more warily than the first time. The man knew now that he wasn't quick enough to land a blow when Tiashe was paying attention to his movements, especially with how Tiashe countered his first attack. And Tiashe knew that the man had the advantage with the twin blades and his dexterity. In order to win, the fledgling had to find a way to get the man to drop one of his blades and keep it away from him. Otherwise, there was no way Tiashe could get past those short swords.

Maybe an attack from behind? Tiashe wondered, green eyes flickering speculatively to the man's back. No, he decided, once the man slashed out with a sword, forcing the young dragon to leap out of range with a snarl and lash of his tail. It would bring him within range of the swords and was too risky anyway with how quick the man's reflexes were. He'd need to find another way to win this battle. Maybe, just maybe, Tiashe thought, hesitantly with a touch of impatient eagerness, he could try using his fire. He was at the age when most fledglings were taught the vital technique of fire breathing, but since he had no other fyuulongs around to teach him, Tiashe practically had to learn how to spit flames on his own. His opponent's blades slashed down close to his wings as Tiashe tried to get in close to bypass his enemy's guard, forcing the dragon to dodge as he watched bits of his black feathers drift down to the cold, gray concrete below. Resisting the urge to wince, the fledgling gratefully acknowledged that it was just his feathers that suffered from the blow, and not his actual wings. Still it was too close a hit for Tiashe to ignore, and he put the idea of fire-breathing out of his mind for now in order to focus more clearly on the battle.

His opponent lunged forward as Tiashe scrambled away from his sweeping blades, trying to find a way to break his opponent's defense. The swords scraped against the walls and the fledgling winced at the scraping of the metal on metal, but he didn't have long to be uncomfortable as the human whirled, struggling to land a killing or crippling cut on Tiashe as the fledgling dove past the swords and beneath their slashing reach, cutting the man's hamstrings with his teeth as he moved past him. There was a thin scream as the man collapsed to the ground with a weak strike out at the dragon who neatly jumped away from the blow. Blood gushed from the torn meat of the prisoner's leg and he breathed heavily as he struggled to get back onto his feet, glaring and spitting curses and swears at the fledgling who'd practically given him a death blow.

It wasn't an exaggeration.

The criminal would die anyway, Tiashe realized, claws pressing into the cold stone floor. Regardless of whether Tiashe spared his life here and now, the man would die. Prisoners weren't given the same quality medical attention that free people were given outside the prisons. Even if the man received treatment for his injuries, it most likely wouldn't be enough to keep him alive long enough to get the attention such an injury required.

 _Is there a reason you're hesitating?_ A ruthless voice flashed through his head and Tiashe flinched at the memory of the chief of staff asking him that particular question. It had been said just before he'd been forced to make his first kill. The memory of that cold voice washing over him, even years later, made the fledgling shudder.

He knew what he had to do, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Staring at the cursing, struggling individual, struggling to block out the scent of blood starting to fill the fledgling's nose with each inhale, the little dragon came to a decision as he stared into the man's pain-filled eyes. The longer the human stayed alive, the more he would suffer… and it was Tiashe's fault, the young dragon reflected, mournfully, staring at the criminal sadly.

 _I'm sorry,_ Tiashe thought, regretfully, slowly padding towards him. _I'll end your suffering now..._

The human met his gaze, and where seconds ago there had been contemptuous anger, there was now an understanding in them that surprised Tiashe into hesitating. Was this human he was planning on killing someone who could understand fyuulongs? Before he could reflect on it anymore, the man lifted his head, offering the dragon his throat.

"Make it quick, Messenger," he pleaded, and Tiashe closed his eyes. Images flashed through the fledgling's head of the horrible things the criminal had gone through during his imprisonment. The horrible living conditions, the loneliness, the constant fear of having to watch his back least it be stabbed by the dangerous prisoners larger and stronger than himself, owing favors and being used like an expendable thing. "End my suffering..."

Opening his eyes, the fledgling flicked his ears, sympathizing with his opponent. Tiashe was as much a prisoner as this man was, and the dragon couldn't bring himself to leave the criminal alive after his wish for freedom. It would be a mercy kill, but one Tiashe would never forgive himself for. He never forgave himself for any of his murders. Lunging forward, the fledgling's jaws clamped shut around the vulnerable throat that the prisoner offered to him. It didn't even take five seconds before the fledgling's powerful jaws managed to sever the human's jugular, blood spraying from the man's throat in a thick gush that stained the little dragon's face, chest, and paws with the crimson fluid.

When he felt the last breath leave the man's body, caught the scent of death starting to fill the air, that he finally released the man's thin, savaged throat and backed away. The blood was already drying on his claws, in his fur. There was a feeling in his chest, a familiar, heavy weight. With a small shake of his head, Tiashe tried to dismiss the sensation. He executed prisoners on a nearly daily basis, he reminded himself, harshly. Shouldn't he be used to this fatigue by now? The dirty feeling of being used to kill humans mixing with the exhaustion of ending a life. Then again, he thought as another wave of fatigue swept over him, perhaps he was right to be ashamed. Proper fyuulongs did not let themselves be captured and forced to serve human whims. Proper fyuulongs did not kill humans for reasons other than protecting those they cared for or in self-defense.

The young dragon watched, dully, as a group of people came in to collect the corpse. He wondered if, one day, he didn't survive one of these fights, they would come and collect his own corpse with the same, mechanical efficiency and dispose of his body in the same way as they disposed of the dead humans. After all, what was the difference between the corpse of a dead human and dead dragon? Besides, it seemed fair, he reflected, that they do to his dead body what they do to the dead prisoners. There was something almost comforting about the idea, as if it would bring his dead victims some measure of justice.

There was a static sound as a voice spoke through the hidden speakers. "Chief of Staff Ayanami is waiting for you. Please exit the arena." The voice was cold, no compassion for the life that had just been lost.

So Ayanami had come to pick him up, the fledgling reflected, dully. That was rare. The man rarely ever had the time to do anything other than sit at his desk and do paperwork. Turning towards the metallic door that slid open a few feet away from him, Tiashe gave one last glance down at the blood pooling around his paws before walking towards the exit.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. Are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Author's notes:** Okay first of all, a very huge THANK YOU to the lovely guest reviewer who left a review for Chapter Two! It really helped inspire me to haul myself into gear into finishing this third-well, second really,-chapter. Also, thanks to everyone else who took the time to read, favorite, follow, or review this story. As always, you attention is appreciated!

Also, I can't really say when the next chapter will come out...I really can't. Sorry for the lack of Tiashe this chapter, but the next chapter will hopefully make up for it. Now, time to introduce the bishops!

 **Fair Warning:** See prologue.

 **Chapter II**

The trio of men were wandering down the streets towards the Barsburg Empire's reknowned Hohburg Fort, carrying large cases of luggage that looked too heavy for any normal person to carry. Two of the three wore white, flowing bishops robes, and one of those two had lavender hair and a soft, expressive face while the other, a red-haired man who looked a few years older than his companion, wore thin-rimmed spectacles. The last of the three men was a blond with spiky hair. He was a bishop as well, although you wouldn't know by looking at him. Unlike his two companions, he wasn't wearing his traditional bishop's attire, preferring instead to don his favorite leather outfit.

One of his companions was more than willing to point this problem out to him. "I can't believe you're dressed like that," the red-haired man muttered to him under his breath so their slighter companion couldn't hear them. "Honestly, Frau, nobody will believe that you're a bishop when you're wearing leather like that instead of your robes."

"Not my fault," the spiky-haired blond replied, blithely waving away his friend's worries. "The sisters back at the church refused to wash them."

"Actually, I would say that that _is_ your fault," Castor replied, glaring at his friend, "given your propensity for indulging in-unsavory activities..."

Frau ignored him and continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted in the first place. "Besides, this place is probably filled with rich snobs who need taken down a few pegs. You know, teach 'em some humility."

"Right," the red-haired man rolled his eyes skyward, gazing at the clear blue skies and imploring enough patience to deal with his irrepressible friend. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs until he had mentally counted to ten before releasing it and opening his eyes in time to come to a very abrupt stop, barely missing smashing his face against a pole lying inches away from his face.

Frau-the idiot-actually laughed at him. "Serves you right for not watching where you're going." he grinned. "Isn't that what you usually tell me?"

Castor glared at him and they continued on their way, with Frau feeling slightly better while Castor felt a bit worse. They didn't talk much more after that, perhaps because they were getting closer to their destination: Hohberg Fort, the pride of the First District.

The closer they came to the imposing fortress, the more uneasy the blond-haired bishop became. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to do this with you two," Frau muttered, not for the first time. Lifting his hand, he cradled his forehead in his palm. "I really can't believe it."

"I can't, either, to be perfectly honest." the red-haired bishop replied.

"Castor, be nice," Lab said, looking both ways before crossing the street with his two bickering friends following closely behind him.

Frau's lips twisted into a displeased grimace. "Let me rephrase that," he replied through gritted teeth. "I can't _believe_ that you two _invited me_ to a place _filled_ with military personal, whom you very well _know_ I _hate_ and I _agreed_ to it. Honestly, what the-" He didn't finish whatever it was he was going to say, as a sharp warning from his other friend interrupted him.

"Frau," the slighter, lavender-haired bishop warned, his voice low.

The blond-haired man had the sense of self-preservation to keep his mouth shut, not saying the last word. That didn't stop him from glaring sulkily at the Fort as they came closer to their destination. To his immense displeasure, it didn't take them much longer to reach the fort's front gates, and Frau felt his skin itch the closer they came to the metallic doors and the soldiers guarding them. The two groups eyes' were locked on each other as the bishops approached the men, and the guards' eyes remained on them even after the bishops had stopped in front of them and set their heavy luggage on the ground. The two groups eyed each other warily, sizing each other up, until a Castor finally addressed them.

"We're the bishops that were requested to attend Lady Ouka's birthday party," Castor replied, tersely, but not disrespectfully. He reached a hand into each of his two pockets and pulled out their contents, presenting his invitation and his bishop's pass in each hand. Labrador followed suit. Frau was in the process of doing the same thing until the guard's words filtered into his ears.

"All three of you?" The guard's skeptical gaze slid purposefully to Frau.

The blond bishop's fingers itched to make a rude gesture that was completely inappropriate for a bishop to make, but he restrained himself. The last thing he needed was to feed the guy's suspicions that he wasn't an actual bishop by doing things everyone knew a bishop-not a proper one, anyway,-wouldn't do. Instead, he presented the man with his bishop's pass and birthday invitation, unable to hide his smirk at the flicker of shock in the guard's eyes.

"That's right," Lab agreed, smiling up at the guardsmen with a disarmingly honest grin.

After a long, hard look at Frau's bishop pass and invitation, as if checking their authenticity, the doorman nodded, curtly. After one more lingering look at Frau, filled with suspicion and distrust, turned back to face the doors to watch for anyone else that approached.

Instead, as he walked past the guard, he chorused along with Castor and Lab through gritted teeth, "Have a nice rest of your day!"

Frau walked past the man quickly, and his two friends followed behind him. The heavy, metallic doors swung open with a rusty creak, and it moved as slowly as old, arthritic joints. The sound grated on Frau's ears and caused a shiver to tingle down his spine, and he strode past them into the inner courtyard as soon as the gap between them was big enough to fit him. As soon as he passed the front doors, Frau felt his perpetually cold body grow even colder. He halted, uneasily, and glanced around the area. A thought was ringing in his head, a question he couldn't answer. _Why is it so cold?_

The gray walls seemed to mock him with their color, reminding him of dirty snow, and the young bishop resisted the urge to shudder as he heard his two friends' footsteps stop behind him. Soldiers in black uniforms were marching down the halls, and they didn't spare the bishops so much as a glance. Even Frau, in his unusual attire, was overlooked as if he didn't even exist.

Is it the temperature? Frau wondered, uneasily, distractedly, glancing around at his surroundings. He realized with a sinking, bone-chilling sensation that it wasn't a physical lack of heat, but a feeling of encompassing apathy, stoicism and downright maliciousness whose frigidness began to swirl around him like a winter wind. Or maybe a breeze was coming in from the outside.

What an icy, unfeeling place, he noted, feeling some of that chill already starting to seep into his body with slow, purposeful intent. He couldn't help wondering, just for a second, what it would be like to grow up in such an apathetic environment. How joyless and miserable such an existence must be, he mused, listening to the soldiers' feet clapping against the hard floor while they marched. The watchful, expressionless eyes set into their impassive faces sent a chill shivering down the blond's spine. These soldiers-people, he struggled to remind himself despite his internal dislike of them, still people, but the thought was almost drown out by his slowly growing horror,-were so desensitized to the horrors they'd seen on their multiple trips to the battlefield that they had stopped caring about anything other than following orders. Anything else was unnecessary.

They're like living dolls, Frau thought, his gaze sliding over to look at Castor out of the corner of his eyes. From the doll freak's set expression, it looked like he was already thinking along the same lines as Frau, and for once, the blond-haired bishop didn't feel like making a joke at his friend's expense. Their current situation was depressing enough as it was with Frau's dark humor adding to it.

There was a low screeching in his ears, like nails on a chalkboard, and he almost cringed at the idea that someone in this place was actually horrible enough to actually torture the soldiers with such a cruel sound. It was only after a few more seconds that he realized it was the gate doors sliding shut. Unable to resist the shudder this time, the bishop closed his eyes in a vain attempt to try and drown out how wrong everything here seemed. The sights, the sounds, the people… It even smelled wrong, Frau realized, catching the scent of chemical cleaners so strong that they almost made him sneeze.

The blond wondered if he could summon the words of a long-forgotten prayer to his lips as he opened his eyes and began striding towards the front doors to the fortress, only to find that he couldn't remember the words. Another cold shiver ran down his spine as Frau thought, not for the first time: What are we even doing here?

It was a rhetorical question; he knew why. The Emperor's daughter, to give her God's blessing on her birthday. What he wanted to know was _why_ the place was so… Why was it so…

 _Lifeless_ , he realized, shock sliding through him as he finally realized what it was about the place that was bothering him. _This place is lifeless._

And then the heavy metallic doors slammed shut behind them, trapping them inside the fortress with an ominous finality. Sucking a lungful of cold air into his lungs, Frau wasn't surprised to find it was as cold as death.


End file.
